


the morning chill

by lokh



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:19:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokh/pseuds/lokh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where it is cold and kageyama is the little spoon. what more can we ask for</p>
            </blockquote>





	the morning chill

“Jesus, you’re _freezing_ ,” Asahi says, eyes wide, and Kageyama would flush if not for the fact that his blood was having enough trouble traversing his veins as it is. “Are you _sick_?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” and his stern tone would have been much more convincing if it weren’t for the stutter of his teeth, clacking in the cold. Asahi frowns, unimpressed.

“He’s always like this,” Hinata pipes up, from behind them, face rosy but lacking the chill adorning Kageyama’s cheek. Kageyama scowls at his voice, and whips around to scowl at his face. He immediately regrets it. A weaker person, already transformed into ice, would have had their neck snapped. “Last time we had the training camp, he wouldn’t move from his futon for, like, an _hour_. He was all, ‘go away! I need to warm up!’”

“It was _cold_!”

“You _fell back asleep!_ Need to ‘warm up’, my ass!”

Privately, Asahi wonders exactly _how_ early these two wake up for Kageyama to sleep in an extra hour and _still_ be up and about before anyone else woke up. Presently, Asahi says, “why don’t you just layer up?”

Kageyama’s scowl _deepens_. Hinata fails to conceal a smirk. “Apparently, once you ‘start moving’, you’ll warm up. But we’re not moving _now_ , are we, Kageyama- _kun_?”

“Oh, _shut up_.”

“Since all you need to do is run around for a while to get warm, he never brings extra layers or anything. Or, he does, and it’s like. Nothing. Doesn’t keep you warm at all.”

“What exactly are you trying to _prove_?” Tsukishima says, blandly, having approached from behind. Beside him, Yamaguchi waves. “The King doesn’t need his robes to keep him warm?”

“How long have you been listening?” Kageyama says, in lieu of a retort, and Tsukishima snorts.

“I don’t have to have been listening to see that you’re clearly freezing your ass off. I could feel you shaking minutes away. Just can’t cast off your pride, can you.”

Kageyama still looks pissed, but his expression has become distinctly _uncomfortable_. Asahi steps forward, almost as if to shield him physically, and he shakes his head. Tsukishima huffs through his nose, and he keeps walking.

“Don’t worry,” Yamaguchi says, in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, once Tsukishima has walked a few meters further. “Tsukki gets really cold too. He’s just good at hiding it. Plus, he’s wearing a bajillion layers all the time.”

“Shut up, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima calls, not turning around. Yamaguchi smiles apologetically to them, and his smile becomes _less_ apologetic when he turns to run after him.

“Sorry, Tsukki!”

“You know, you can borrow some sweaters if you’d like,” Asahi says, trying to sound as casual and non-awkward as possible. Kageyama stills and warms up, anyway. “I don’t imagine that anything of Hinata’s would fit.”

“No, it’s fine,” Kageyama says, a little quickly, and he shuffles his feet. “Thank you anyway, Asahi-san.”

“No problem,” Asahi responds, but he highly doubts it, what with the way Kageyama is rigid with the effort to suppress a flinch at every light breeze. They stare, unmoving, Asahi knowing that if he said nothing Kageyama would continue to tough this out and get himself sick or something, Kageyama knowing he’d been caught and still stubbornly looking for another way out, and Hinata eventually coughs.

“You’re still holding hands.”

Kageyama _definitely_ turns red at that.

 

 

It must be around two in the morning when the shuffling begins. Asahi thinks nothing of it, at first. Noya and Tanaka have always been big on the midnight toilet breaks, and he knows Suga just needs to walk around for a bit to get himself back to sleep. It’s when the shuffling gets closer, _louder_ , moving distinctly away from the exit and closer to _him_ that Asahi starts to panic a little.

At least it’s not a ghost. Ghosts don’t have feet. Asahi comforts himself, somewhat, with this fact. Closer to the realm of possibility, it can’t be a spider, either, since it would have to be a rather large spider that moves awfully fast to make a shuffling like that. He’s not sure that spiders of these qualities don’t exist, though. The night becomes just that much colder.

 _Something_ touches his shoulder. Asahi prays to the gods that his unearthly scream was just in his head.

“Asahi-san,” comes the quiet whisper, almost drowned in the sound of his thumping heart, and slowly, Asahi looks up, head shifting on the pillow to make out the vague shapes of Kageyama’s face.

“Kageyama, it’s really late. Or early. What’s wrong?”

“Sorry…”

“It’s fine. I was already awake. Tell me what’s wrong.”

Asahi can’t see him very well, but he knows Kageyama is squirming, thin clothes shifting as he rubs his hands against his arms. “It’s just. Could I take you up on that offer? About the sweaters?”

Asahi looks up at him (or, where he assumes his gaze is) disbelievingly. Then he finds himself hurriedly tamping down on a bubble of laughter. “Kageyama, it’s _two in the morning_.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just.” He’s not for one moment thinking of just dismissing him, no matter how cold it is (the fact that Kageyama came to him _at all_ would have been unthinkable months ago, and that he trusts him enough to approach him at such a ridiculous hour without repercussion makes him _feel so much_ ). But he also doesn’t want to leave the safety of his blanket, Kageyama or not. Kageyama, crouched, rocks on his feet, regret almost palpable, and he seems almost ready to up and leave when Asahi makes a snap decision.

“How about this,” he says, stopping Kageyama in his tracks. He lifts the blanket, just a little, enough so that the brush of fabric can be heard if not seen, and not enough to let the cold in. “Just come here.”

The weight of Kageyama’s stare is heavy on his own. Asahi thinks that he’s stopped breathing.

“Um,” he starts, a little too loudly, pausing to temper himself. “Um. I, uh. Sorry. Good night.”

“Kageyama, please wait,” and he can’t say no to that, too devoted a follower to societal convention of politeness and respect, and he stops yet again. “I don’t want you to go back to your futon cold. You might get sick.”

“I do it all the time,” Kageyama says, but the resolve in his voice is quickly fading as he can literally _feel_ the heat emanating from within the blankets.

“It’ll help me keep warm, too,” Asahi supplies, trying not to sound too hopeful. Truthfully, he’s probably nowhere near as bothered by the cold as Kageyama is, but he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t feel the cold _at all_. He can feel Kageyama tense with indecision.

“It might be weird,” he blurts, before backtracking in a quieter voice, “when we wake up. The team.”

“Nishinoya and Tanaka do it all the time.”

Kageyama holds back a snort. Asahi grins.

“Come on.”

Another beat, and finally, Kageyama shuffles closer. His knee almost knocks into Asahi’s nose as he crawls over, hands leaning heavily on his side to map out the space left for him. It takes a few more minutes of movements in staccato for Kageyama to eventually settle against him, body still tense and just that bit too far.

“Sorry,” Asahi says, after a long silence. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can move away a little.”

“No, it’s just,” Kageyama says, rushed, and he takes a shuddering exhale that is still too cold for Asahi’s liking. “I don’t know. It’s not _bad_. It’s just weird. I don’t know. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He pauses. “Do you want to leave?”

He asks it as gently as he can, so as not to wake the others, so as not to sound accusatory. There’s no response, and for a moment, Asahi thinks that Kageyama may have fallen asleep. Then, in the silence, he admits, “no.”

A weight lifts, and his chest flutters. Asahi tries not to feel too giddy. It may just be the early hour.

“Okay, um. How about this? Roll over onto your other side.”

Kageyama doesn’t seem to know where this is going, but he nonetheless complies, haltingly shuffling until he’s facing away from Asahi. Asahi moves closer, closer until he can feel the heat of Kageyama’s back, then stops, a hair’s breadth away.

“Kageyama, I’m just going to come up to your back, alright? Is that okay?”

And just like that, he’s stiff again, the surface of the futon trembling with tension. Asahi waits.

“Okay.”

When his chest first meets his back, they both flinch. Through both of their shirts, Asahi can feel the curve of Kageyama’s spine, and he can’t help the sudden wave of concern that courses through him. Just how _cold_ had Kageyama been? Unable to stop himself, he raises his arms, brushing along Kageyama’s side to pull him closer by the stomach, and he _squeaks_.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have–“

“No, it’s fine, I’ll,” and then he stops himself, rests his own hands atop Asahi’s and though clammy, they warm slowly, melting the ice. With Asahi’s steady breathing against him back, calm and sure, Kageyama falls in time, coherent thought dissipating with his strain. The heat against the chilly air feels so good, and the weight against his back is reassuring. The bedding is still warm with Asahi’s presence, and through the shared shampoo and soap the scent of his deodorant, the fabric softener he uses, and his cologne are at once incredibly sharp and yet each dulling his senses, lulling him into sleep.

If Asahi leans that bit further, enough so that his nose brushes the nape of his neck, breathing him in, he’ll just blame it on the time.

Kageyama moves lethargically against him, pushing further into his chest until he’s buried himself there, into the space Asahi’s left between his limbs, and he sighs, a small thing that has Asahi suddenly yearning with affection and unbearable fondness. Asahi has never really thought of Kageyama as someone in need of protection. Tall and sure, he oozed with self-confidence. Even where he was vulnerable, there was a composure that denoted resilience, and for that Asahi admired him. It’s almost impossible, right now, for him to reconcile that embodiment of certainty with the boy within his arms right now, almost small in his embrace, frame thin and easily enveloped.

The dissonance is hard to describe. It’s hard to say, at this moment, what it makes him feel. All he knows is that he wouldn’t mind doing this again and again and again, and in this moment of sleepy delirium, wonders how he ever went to sleep without the presence of Kageyama beside him.

At the very least, he is glad Kageyama isn’t cold anymore.

 

 

(Kageyama does not wake up for his morning run. Hinata will come looking for him, and when he finds him, proceeds to accidentally wake up the rest of the team sans the two cuddled into each other. By the time they wake up, only Suga and Daichi are in possession of any photos.)


End file.
